Archive for September 14th, 2012

Pardon me while I have a brief fan-girl moment…

*sparkle* Yes, I sparkled.

Okay, I want to thank Gemma Halliday and Jennifer Fischetto for sharing a super-cute funny clip from their new collaboration, Unbreakable Bond. Gemma has TONS of books for y’all to read when you are done with this one, and Jennifer will have many more to come. These two make a great team, and I can’t wait for the rest of this series. I read this book in one sitting, so I’m ready for more Jamie. 🙂

Here’s the lead in:

Jamie Bond has a very tenuous relationship with her father, Derek.  Probably because, hoping she’d come out a male chip off the old block, he named her “James Bond”.  Yeah, how do you forgive a guy for something like that?  After Derek was forced into retirement, Jamie took over the family business, a P.I. firm specializing in catching cheating husbands.   This scene is a little peek into their lives as Derek checks up on Jamie and her latest mark.

And scene:

As soon as I got home I realized I had racked up two more voicemails from Derek. 

I dropped onto my sofa with a sigh.  I thought about ignoring them, but sadly, knowing Derek, that wouldn’t make him go away.  Instead, I reluctantly keyed my pin number into the voicemail system. 

“Hey, it’s me,” came the first one, dated last night.  “Just checking in.  How’d things go with the judge?  Call me.”

I hit delete.

Even though Derek had officially retired to his houseboat last year after being shot in the shoulder by a married father of three caught with a Russian hooker in North Hollywood, he still wanted a report on every mark.  I’d like to think it was because fishing in Marina Del Rey wasn’t enough to occupy the mind of a twenty-seven year veteran of the P.I. business and not because he thought I needed checking up on.

That’s what I’d like to think.

“Me again.”  Derek’s voice filled my apartment as the second message clicked on.  “Aren’t you back yet?  What the hell is taking so long?  This was an in-and-out case, James, don’t tell me you’re still working him?  It’s nine-fifteen for Christ’s sakes.  I’d have had him in twenty minutes.  Call me.”

I gave my phone the finger. 

The next few messages followed in similar fashion, growing increasingly pissed.    

I deleted them all and crossed to the kitchen, pulling out a white egg timer. 

When I was seventeen and doing a shoot for French Vogue in Cannes, I’d been stupid enough to try a line of coke an over-friendly photographer had offered.  I’d ended up in the emergency room, not because of the coke, but because my high alter ego had suddenly thought herself invincible and dove off the top tier of a yacht into the Mediterranean in the middle of the night.  I’d broken two ribs and smashed my face into the rotor, which left me bruised beyond the help of airbrushing for a month.  My agent had been furious.  He’d sent me to therapy to make sure this kind of “self destructive behavior” never dented his bank account again.   

The therapy, honestly, hadn’t been all that bad.  Having someone actually look at me for me and not as a clothes hanger was a novelty, and it had been nice to talk to someone who was required to at least pretend to listen to me.  Unlike Derek.   

The best advice I’d taken away from the therapy was to set limits when I talked to Derek.  Take him in small doses.  Hence, the egg timer. 

I wound the timer up for five minutes, took a deep breath, and dialed his number.

It rang six times, and I was just about to give up when a woman’s voice answered. 

“Yell-o?” she called.  Followed by a cigarette stained giggle.

“Is Derek in?”

“Who’s askin’?”  Her accent was part Valley Girl and part trailer park, and I could hear a muffled male voice in the background.   


“Well, Jamie, Derek is otherwise occ-u-pied,” she drew out the word.  Then there was more muffled noise, followed by a swatting sound and a high pitched, “Oh, you naughty boy.”   

I took another deep breath, inhaling patience.  As much as I wanted to hang up now, I knew it would only mean three more messages by tomorrow. 

“Would you please tell Derek that his daughter is on the line?”

The giggling stopped.  “He didn’t tell me about no daughter.”

“He never does,” I murmured more to myself than Derek’s shocked flavor of the month. 

I heard the phone being handed off, then Derek’s voice.  “James, is that you?”

“Unless you have another daughter.”

“Nothing’s been proven yet.”

“Ha ha.  Very funny.”

“Hey, cut the old man some slack, huh?”

“You left me six messages?” I prompted, hoping to get this over with.     

“Is that all it takes to get my daughter to call me back these days?  Just six.”

“I was feeling generous.”

“So, how did the judge thing go?”  I could hear him popping something in his mouth.  Probably Cap’n Crunch, knowing Derek.  “Got anything yet?  You know, James, you gotta move fast with these high profile clients.  They expect instant gratification, if you know what I mean.”

“Things went fine with the judge.  We nailed him last night.”

“Hey, good for you, pal.  So, which one of the Bond Girls did you end up taking with you?  That blonde one?  God, she’s hot.”

I tilted my head to the side, and checked my timer.  Three minutes left. 


Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad.  Honest.  In fact, I’d venture to say there wasn’t a woman in all of L.A. County that hadn’t at one time or another fallen in love with Derek Bond.  Think L.A.’s answer to Magnum P.I.  Laid back, charming, and a real man’s man.  Unfortunately I’m a girl’s girl, so you can see where we butted heads. 

Plus, there was the fact that, hoping I’d come out a bouncing baby boy, Derek had named me James.  James Bond.  Yeah, I know.  How do you forgive a guy for something like that?

“She has a name, Derek.  It’s Caleigh.  And, yes, I took both her and Sam.”

“Which one’s Sam?  The one with the legs?”

“They all have legs.”

“Yeah, but not like hers, honey.” 

I looked at the timer.  Two-thirty.  “Don’t you have company to entertain, Derek?”

“You wouldn’t be trying to get rid of your dear old dad, would you?”

“Heaven forbid.”

“All right, all right, I’ll let you go, James.  Just tell me who you’re working tomorrow?”

“Shankman.  Married seven years.  Doing the nanny.  We’re sitting on the place during his lunch break.”


“I’m taking Danny.”

Derek paused, silence overtaking the other end of the line.  “I don’t trust him, James.”

“His photos are excellent, and you know it.”

“I didn’t say his pictures were bad.  I said I didn’t trust the man.”

“Listen, Derek, I can handle Danny.  I’m a big girl.  I’m a trained professional, remember?”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No!”  I jumped up from the sofa, banging my shin on the coffee table.  “Ow!  Shit.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled rubbing my leg.  I could feel an unattractive lump growing there already.  “Look, I’m doing Shankman at noon.  I’m taking Danny.  You are staying home with Miss Tricks there, and if you don’t, so help me God, I’ll call Dr. Pederson and remind him you haven’t had your annual rectal yet.”

Derek chomped down hard on a Cap’n Crunch nugget.  “Oh that was a low blow, James.”

“Hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“Fine.  But call me when you nail him.  And I mean it this time!” he shouted, then hung up on me.

Just as the egg timer buzzed.

That’s it, I needed a drink.

Hooked? Here’s the blurb: 

Her name is Bond. Jamie Bond. And her life is about to be shaken and
stirred in a cocktail of sex, lies, scandal, and one very dead body.
Jamie Bond is a former cover model who switches gears to take over the
family business: The Bond Agency, a high-powered P.I. firm located in
Los Angeles that specializes in domestic espionage – catching cheating
husbands. Jamie’s assembled a team of other disenchanted former models
to help her take names and kick derrieres among L.A.’s wealthiest
philandering husbands. Her current client: Mrs. Veronica Waterston,
the young, distraught wife of superior court judge, Thomas Waterston,
known for his tough sentencing, right-wing leanings, and his fondness
for blondes with double D’s. Easy target. But Jamie’s simple case
takes an unexpected turn for the worse when the not-so-good judge
winds up on the ten o’clock news with a bullet through his head. It’s
clear that someone has set Jamie up, and suddenly she’s on the run,
under fire, and in serious jeopardy of losing it all. With a hot
A.D.A. on her trail, a killer on the loose, and her life on the line,
Jamie must prove once and for all that nobody messes with a Bond.

Copyright 2012 Gemma Halliday

Gemma Halliday is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
of the High Heels Mysteries, the Hollywood Headlines Mysteries, and
the Deadly Cool series of young adult books, as well as several other
works. Gemma’s books have received numerous awards, including a Golden
Heart, a National Reader’s Choice award and three RITA nominations.
She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where she is hard at
work on several new projects.

Jennifer Fischetto, national bestselling author, writes dead bodies
for ages thirteen to six-feet-under. When not writing, she enjoys
reading, cooking, singing, and watching way too much TV. She lives in
Western Massachusetts with her two awesome children, who love to throw
new ideas her way, and two fuzzy cats, who love to get in the way.
Unbreakable Bond is her debut novel.

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